The Battle is Over
by ohwhatagloomyshow
Summary: Voldemort is dead. Hogwarts is safe. And now, McGonagall must rest.
1. 1: Exhaustion

It seems like days before she's allowed to leave the battlefield: it's a very full eighteen hours that plagues her when all she wants to do is sit, relax, even sleep. But no: she straightens her shoulders. There is work to be done.

The most important issue is the matter of Voldemort's body. Then, the matter of every other body on the grounds. The Ministry would deal with the first; the Hogwarts Express, it is decided, would make two trips, one with live passengers, and the other with their dead. Of course, the number of students who would be returning home on the train dwindles only hours after the battle, as the adults Apparated and shocked parents came to gather their beloveds. The Order, or what is left of it, remains behind to gather the remaining dead.

And as if that isn't complicated enough-as if gazing down on the lifeless faces of such loved and admired students isn't enough work and sorrow for a lifetime-there is the matter of the castle, half-destroyed by the battle. This school, this fortress that has housed and protected thousands of generations is so worse for wear, with gaping holes in the ceiling and walls, in some places crumbling and crashing to the ground. It is hard to see it in such a state: such terrible disrepair, _all _of it caused by former students. The teachers gather together and fix what they could of it, and although it is not perfect when they finished, it is better than it had been before they'd started.

Her dark eyes anxiously searched the Great Hall for anyone who may still need any help; but Molly Weasley approaches her, placing a warm hand on her arm.

"Go up and rest, Minerva," she says in a soft voice. She offers a gentle smile. "We'll finish everything down here."

"No, Molly, I couldn't-" But she can't argue with Molly's determined expression, and she sighs.

"_Thank you_," she murmurs, giving a very tired smile in return. Slowly she turns on the spot and squeezes her worn fingers under her glasses to rub her eyes deeply, so exhausted.

But as she rounds the corner and heads to the stairs, a hopeful voice hit her ears. "Professor!" It's Harry's voice, and she finds herself straightening her shoulders before turning to him. He goes to her with her same tired smile on his mouth, but his eyes are eager and he extends his hand.

"Professor McGonagall, I just wanted to say thank you. For everything you've done for me."

Maybe it's because she's so exhausted, or maybe she's just sentimental for that moment, but she disregards his hand and opens her own arms with a small smile playing on her lips. He grins and is enveloped by her; she holds him tight, this young boy, this brave man who saved the world at just seventeen.

"No. Thank _you_, Potter," she murmurs as she hugs him. "I'm so very proud of you-proud to have you in my House, proud to call you my student." She releases him, and there are tears in both of their eyes. Lightly she touches his cheek with withered fingers. "You've done so much for us. For our school. For the world. We'll never be able to thank you enough."

He blushes as she takes back her hand, and looks at the ground. He jerks his thumb behind them, toward the Great Hall. "I should, ah, go catch up with the Order, then." He gives her an awkward, if genuine, half-smile, and turns away. She watches him go, grinning proudly after him like a grandmother.

But suddenly the exhaustion reasserts itself in her old bones, and she falters a bit, reaching out to the nearest wall for support. She needs to sit, to sleep, so she continues on her original path, heading up the stairs and making a handful of rights and lefts before facing the guardian statue. She can't remember Snape's old password but it doesn't matter, because he steps aside anyway.

She mounts the stairs slowly, taking her robes in her hands. When she reaches the top she glances around, looking at Snape's dreary office and the now-sleeping portraits, the Pensive strangely open. And as she stands there, her eyes pass over the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, who struggles to remain awake in the bright moonlight.

And she can't help the terrible weakness in her knees, or the trembling of her hands, as she walks toward his portrait, and he greets her with a great smile. She faces him, and murmurs, "It's done, Albus. It's over."

And she collapses back against the desk, fumbling as she catches herself in the chair. She's weeping now, and she can't do anything to stop the tears that flow hot and fast down her face. Her shoulders, so tough, falter in this moment and tremble with her sobs. It's hit her now, fully, that her fight, that his fight, that the world's fight, is now over, finished in one furious battle. No other generation of wizards need grow up in fear, thanks to one miraculous seventeen year old boy and his remarkable friends. She thinks of the dead: so many students, so many of _her own students_, lost for this cause, faces she'll suddenly never see again. And it wrecks her for quite some time.

"I know, Minerva." She can only just hear him over her own violent gasps and sighs. His voice is still so kind, so reassuring, and it relaxes her automatically, although it takes quite a few moments for her to collect herself. Her palms and fingers wipe her face, and she smiles at the portrait.

"Fifty years. Fifty years of Tom Riddle-" she shudders out a sigh-"and it's all over." She relaxes her head back on the chair, and notices Albus admiring her.

"You need your rest, Minerva."

"I can rest when I'm dead, Albus," she replies with a light wink and shaky laugh. She looks around the office slowly, critically, and with a sigh, speaks. "I suppose I'll be the next Headmaster-well, Head_mistress_-then, won't I?"

"Only if you want."

"Of course I want to. I've given up everything for Hogwarts." It's a rhetorical statement, meant only for her, but she ponders on it. "It's done so much for me." She meets his blue eyes. "_You've_ done so much for me." She rubs her forehead, and yawns loudly from exhaustion. "It's the least I could do." The last words are murmured, and are a bit slurred together.

"Good-night, Minerva," he whispers kindly to her.

But she's already asleep in his chair.


	2. 2: Understanding

She's startled awake the next morning by the muted noise of stone griding on stone as the staircase moves up to the office, by the soft noise of footsteps on stairs. Her eyes jump open as she's thrown into consciousness; she removes her glasses and sits up in his chair, rubbing her eyes roughly. Her body is still so tired, and she knows she's only had a few hours of sleep, but she must be as wide awake as possible for whoever is coming up to see her now.

She stands and places her glasses back on; by the time her eyes are focused, her guest is already speaking.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Professor; I just wanted to ask you something." Her voice is gentle and apologetic; her eyes are down on the floor and she looks embarrassed.

"Why, Miss Granger!" Her voice is surprisingly soft, although a bit harsh with sleep. She clears it and steps forward. "Whatever is the matter?"

Hermione looks up and meets her eyes; for a moment Minerva is startled by how pretty this young girl has grown over the past few months. Even covered with dust and dried blood, there's something very beautiful about her face. She blushes. "I was just wondering-will Hogwarts be open next year?" She blushes lightly. "I was hoping to come back and, well, finish."

Minerva gives her a small smile. "If I have any say in the matter, Hogwarts will be open again next September. That should give us all enough time to fix up everything." Hermione meets her eyes and grins.

"Thank you, Professor." She relaxes a bit, but looks just as embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you-I'll just go back down stairs, then." She hesitates before she turns to go, but just as she reaches the steps, Minerva calls her name. She looks back eagerly.

"I'll be looking forward to your arrival next fall, Miss Granger."

"Same, Professor." She smiles one last time, and heads back down the stairs.

"She has your spirit, Minerva." She starts severely as the portrait behind her speaks; a hand is at her throat as she turns back around to face Albus. He's smiling, and she smiles weakly back.

"Does she?" she asks as she walks back to his chair and sets herself down.

Albus gives her a look. "You know she does."

Her lips twitch into a smile and she settles back into his chair, her eyes resting suddenly on the bare spot of wall next to him. She thinks of the man whose portrait should be right there, staring back at her, and she frowns. The rage slowly begins to build within her.

"Do you know what Severus did last night, Albus?" she asks quietly, composedly, although she stares at her trembling hands. She doesn't give him a chance to reply. "He deserted us." Inhaling deeply, she closes her eyes, attempts to keep control of herself. "He knew we were protecting Harry so he fled. First he killed you-_killed you_, Albus!" Here is a bit of passion in her voice, but she tries to quell it. "Killed you when all this time you trusted him, _we_ trusted him-and what did he do to our trust? He crushed it, like a bug, like a _coward_ crushes something he's afraid of." Her voice trembles just as severly as her hands.

When he speaks, his voice is gentle. "Severus was not a coward, Minerva." Her eyes flash up to his, and they're harsh, harsher than they've ever been, but he contines before she has the time to interrupt. "And yes, he did kill me. But only because I asked him to."

She nearly falls off her chair, only grabbing onto the armrests in the nick of time. She feels the blood leave her face. "_You asked him to?_" Her voice is weak. "But why-why would you _ask him to_?"

He sighs, but it's not a sigh of annoyance; rather, it is the sigh that preludes a story that has been begging to be told.

She listens to him with rapt attention, her eyes wide and hands white as they grip the chair fiercely. "Why didn't you tell me any of this, Albus?" she asks in an almost broken whisper. "I was right here, why couldn't you-"

"Because it was not your secret to keep." His voice, while kind, is firm.

"But you told me _everything!_ Everything about Harry, about Riddle-" Her eyes are full, and she blinks furiously.

"I'm sorry, Minerva." And he is, she can hear it in his tone and see it in his face, his piercing eyes. That guilt, that regret, but that firm resolve to stand by everything he's said.

She sucks in a breath and stands shakily. "I should, ah, I should go. See if anyone is still downstairs-if anyone still needs help." But truthfully she has to think, and she can't seem to do it with his piercing eyes staring right through her. Slowly she leaves his office, but she can't make it past the staircase; instead, she holds the wall for support as she sits on the last few steps.

Albus had asked Severus for death; Severus had not betrayed him. He had been on _their side_ until the very end. And she had fought him! Just hours ago she had dueled with him for Harry Potter's protection! _Harry Potter, of all people!_ The boy he had been protecting-the boy he risked his life so many times to protect.

The sudden tears sting her eyes. And now she understand, understands everything-but what did it matter, it was too late, Severus was dead. She would never be able to apologize-for her misjudgement, for her mistrust.

Guilt shivers down her spine and she sits in relative silence. The thoughts that run through her head are heavy.

All of these years, and she thought he had hated young Potter-well, of course he'd hated Potter, hated him just for his appearance. But he had still protected him, protected him to save that last little piece of Lily.

How had she dared call this man a coward last night? Double-crossing the most powerful Dark Wizard the world had ever seen, just to protect the life of one young boy and to uphold the broken promise to keep the woman he'd loved safe.

She shudders out a sigh, and hastily wipes the tears from her face. So there the matter stood: she was mistaken-they were all mistaken in their rash judgement. No use crying about it now, was there? The matter was done and settled; Albus and Severus were dead, Voldemort himself was dead, and it was time to move on, to rebuild from the ashes of their death and destruction and arise like a phoenix.

She allows herself a faint smile as she stands back up. Hogwarts would arise like a phoenix from the ashes of its greatest warriors and most terrible foes. All was as it should be.


End file.
